


Lip Service

by Leafling



Series: Kink Meme fills [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Caught in the Act, De-anoning, Failed attempt at snark, Horribly unbeta'd, I couldn't resist, Incest, Kink Meme, M/M, Makeup, Oral, Poor Diana, This is becoming my OTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leafling/pseuds/Leafling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kink meme, the prompt: (Haytham/Connor) "Ever notice how Connor and Haytham have awfully shiny lips? Well, the reason why they do is because they secretly wear lip gloss. </p>
<p>Bonus: They "share" their lip gloss by kissing. Extra bonus for someone walking in on them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lip Service

**Author's Note:**

> Last thing I'm posting tonight. My hand's cramping...

"Cease all this squirming, at once, Connor!" Haytham commanded, already beyond irritated with the squirming assassin in his lap, as he held a tube of lip-gloss in one hand and with the other, he tried to keep the younger from escaping with his palm planted firmly against Connor’s lower back. The warmth of Connor sitting atop him—legs astride his hips, chest so close that Haytham could feel Connor’s heartbeat so precisely, that it was almost as if the two of them were one entity—was torturous enough, but with all the squirming and struggling he was doing, Haytham had found himself so aroused that he could barely focus on the task at hand.

Connor was fully aware of this—Haytham’s fraying control—he was no fool. He could feel the older man’s cock beneath him; hot and heavy, straining against the tight confines of Haytham’s breeches, and Connor had felt it the moment he was wrestled into the older man’s lap. From the very moment the offending maquillage was presented to him, Connor had set out to get Haytham so hot and bothered, that the older would abandon this foolish endeavor to satisfy his desire. 

Even if their coupling turned out to be horrid—with Connor painfully sore and left to bring his own self to climax—it would be infinitely better than being manhandled and made to put on powder and paint, he thought. 

Not that the assassin disliked being made-up. Oh, no, he did. Connor often indulged in the use of cosmetics if given the time; he just didn't want Haytham doing it for him. It was degrading, being manhandled and forced to sit still, so he could be painted up like someone's pet. And, perhaps, that was why Haytham wanted to do its much—to teach him a lesson for some discretion past. That, or Haytham was a fucking prick. More likely it was the latter, which made Connor grit his teeth and struggle all the more, not wanting to give the older man the satisfaction of subduing him. 

Connor was very aggressive, when it came to quite a few things, but there was nothing akin to his aggression when he didn’t want to do something. Haytham knew this to be unquestionably true after another fruitless moment passed, struggling and cursing, as he tried to grab Connor’s chin and hold his head still. His hand with the gloss in it was grabbed in both of Connor’s and Haytham swore colorfully at the assassin, as he tried to wrench it free. The scuffle was an intense one, almost escalating into violence, as Haytham’s temper got the best of him. 

A moment away from smashing his forehead into Connor’s and laying him out on the floor, the older man finally admitted defeat. Not really. Haytham was just as stubborn—if not more—than Connor, and when he set out to do something, he wanted it done, no matter what the cost may be. For appearances sake, however, Haytham conceded. "Alright, I give. You have proven to me, once and for all, that I should never underestimate how childish and selfish you can be." 

Connor pulled an unattractive face, before retorting angrily. “Oh, I am selfish—? Says the man who would force his will upon another just for his own gratification. You are many things, father; a hypocrite being one of them.”

Haytham rolled his eyes. His body had begun to ache from having Connor struggling atop him so much. And with his erection not getting any less hard, his remaining patience was nearly nonexistent. “You honestly think I would waste my time on something as trivial as painting you up, for my own pleasure?”

“And just how is this for my enjoyment? Do I look to be having fun with this?” Connor seethed. 

Haytham sighed, shifting the best he could under Connor to try and get the feeling back in his numbed legs. “If you had just let me do as I had planned, this would be pleasurable for the both of us.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, mouth setting in a firm line, as he assessed Haytham’s words. Just when the older man thought Connor had gone and broken his brain—and even though that was impossible, as far as Haytham knew, the grandmaster thought, somehow, Connor would be able to do it—the assassin finally spoke up. “Very well… do as you intended.” Connor agreed, finally; his tone clipped, as he held his displeasure at bay. “However, I shall be the judge of whether or not—” 

Haytham wasted no time listening to Connor’s conditions, gripping the assassin by his chin; the older man brought the tube of lip gloss to his lips and squeezed it with a bit more force than necessary. Connor’s expression soured, as the shimmering, soft solid spilled onto his lips in tiny, albeit thick, dollops. The faintly colored, almost iridescent gloss was cool and smelled faintly of something sweet, and the more of it Haytham put on Connor’s lips, the more the assassin found himself pursing his lips, relaxing into the hold on his chin, as he allowed Haytham to do as he pleased. 

When Haytham was satisfied with the generous amount of lip gloss used, he dropped the tube onto the floor and reached up to smooth the faint, rosy-colored crème along Connor’s bottom lip with his index finger, his dark eyes holding the younger man’s gaze, as he worked diligently. Resisting the urge to lick the calloused finger massaging his mouth, Connor felt heat pooling in his lower abdomen. 

Astonishment made him blush, as Connor hadn’t the slightest notion that he could find this process to be erotic, but as Haytham dragged his finger along his surprisingly soft skin lips, the assassin felt his skin break out in goosebumps—proving to him, once and for all, that he very much was enjoying the simple intimate contact. 

As Haytham worked slowly and deliberately, equally distributing the gloss on the bottom and then the top lip, he pretended not to notice how Connor was now holding his breath; how his pulse had begun to race; how the younger man’s erection was poking him in the lower abdomen. Though he wanted nothing more, at that instant, then to put Connor his back and have him, Haytham wasn’t quite finished. 

Sitting back and admiring his work, Haytham smiled, as he traced Connor’s colored lips with his thumb and reveled in the way the assassin let out a shaky breath against the pad of his finger. When Connor’s pink tongue flicked out and captured Haytham’s thumb, pulling it back into the warmth of his mouth, so that he could suck on it, the grandmaster nearly forgot to breathe. 

Connor’s lips looked absolutely obscene; shiny and colored as they were, and with his thumb trapped within its moistness, being languidly stroked by Connor’s tongue, as the assassin practically pleasured his finger, Haytham couldn’t shake the thought of putting the younger man’s mouth to use with a body part of a more explicit nature. 

Still, he wasn’t done with this little game—his self-control was practically nonexistent, the will to come sheathed deep within Connor almost too overwhelming too ignore, but somehow, Haytham was able to detangle his mind and sanity from the heavy tendrils of lust. Pulling his thumb free from Connor’s mouth, and chuckling at the breathless whimper the assassin made, Haytham leant forward and kissed him deeply. 

Haytham’s blood boiled and nerves sang with desire, as Connor carded his fingers through his graying-hair and clung to him desperately—the younger having had long since succumb to his yearning, as he rutted and arched fervently against Haytham; actions pleading louder than his words ever could. 

Letting Connor devour his mouth, Haytham discreetly reached down and retrieved the discarded lip-gloss. With their intense necking, the lip-gloss on Connor’s lips surely had either rubbed off on his own mouth, or had been inadvertently consumed by either party—which, all in all, was too bad; as the cosmetic was advertised as being edible, and had a delicious, albeit faint, taste to it—and, so the grandmaster only thought it right to reapply it. 

Connor, however, had other things in mind. When Haytham disengaged from the kiss, he only got a chance to breathe, before the assassin was pulling him back—reconnecting their mouths and sucking on his tongue, as if Haytham was the most addictive thing in the world. And at first, the older man didn’t mind being interrupted—as Connor had become a capable kisser in the time they had spent together and certainly didn’t spare any finesse when doing so—but, when the younger man shifted his position atop of him, and began robbing him of his clothing, so very eager to get things going that he was moments away from ripping Haytham’s clothes to shreds, the grandmaster had had enough. 

Planting his free hand onto Connor’s lower back, Haytham surprised the assassin, by putting him onto his back. The floor was hard underneath Connor, but his knees no longer ached, and for that he was thankful. Looking up at Haytham with clouded eyes, he panted breathlessly. “I…”

“Quiet.” Haytham interrupted, pressing a searing kiss into Connor’s lips to silence any possible complaints. Pulling away from the kiss when he was sure that Connor had been pacified, Haytham sat back on his haunches and realized, with a scowl, that the tube of lip-gloss had burst in his hand. The shimmering, rubicund soft solid stained his palm and fingers, making his entire hand sticky, as the remnants spilled from the punctured plastic container. Great… just fantastic. 

Prepared to discard the ruined tube and retrieve another from his desk, Haytham was somewhat surprised when Connor captured his wrist and brought his sullied hand to his mouth, so that he could taste sweetness that stained Haytham’s fingers. 

It only took a few especially lewd licks of his tongue across the sensitive palm of Haytham’s hand, before the older man decided that enough was enough—that he wanted to come buried deep within Connor’s mouth. And with the way the youth serviced his hand, it didn’t seem as though he was opposed to the notion, himself. 

The tell-tale rustle of fabric, as clothing was moved or removed, could most likely be heard outside the door, but neither of them cared to silence themselves, as they settled into their respective positions—Connor poised on his knees in front of Haytham’s standing form—and the assassin tugged at and unfastened Haytham’s belt clumsily.

Haytham expected what was to come next to be good—great even. But, amazing… no. Connor did a great many things great, even Haytham had to admit, but the grandmaster simply had yet to witness the youth do something amazingly—that is, until the assassin pressed a hot kiss against the glistening head of his cock, passion burning in his eyes, as he licked away the slick fluid welling there, before following the thick pulsating vein that ran along the underside of it. 

Haytham dug his nails into the base of Connor’s neck, knees almost giving out on him, as he was assaulted with wave after wave of pleasure. The assassin, apparently, had been practicing, because never before had this been incredible enough to make the grandmaster see stars. A half-stifled growl escaped Haytham’s gritted teeth, as Connor took him into his mouth entirely. 

Connor breathed easy through his nose, as he gripped at the belt that dangled loosely from Haytham’s hips and pulled, urging the older man to thrust—to fuck the dark, moist heat of his mouth. And when Haytham finally began setting his own pace; urgent, hard, and forceful; like he was making a concerted effort to give the assassin a sore throat—deeper and deeper, until he almost couldn’t breathe—Connor let go of the belt with one hand in favor of gripping his own erection through the confines of his trousers. 

Stroking and squeezing himself in time with Haytham’s savage thrusts into his mouth, Connor groaned feeling about ready to climax; not caring if his trousers would be sticky and uncomfortable afterwards. His jaw ached deliciously, muscles straining, as Haytham pressed in deep. The hands on his neck relinquished their hold, one going on to twist in his dark brown hair, whilst the other traced a line around his shimmering, faintly crimson-stained lips, Haytham marveling in the way Connor’s mouth stretched out accommodatingly around his cock. 

Smearing what little remained of lip-gloss on his hand onto Connor’s lips, Haytham groaned at the obscene nature of this encounter—at how eager and skilled the assassin’s tongue was, licking and massaging his cock the best he could, as the grandmaster thrust it in and out of the younger man’s mouth—at the muffled little noises Connor made against him, as the assassin stoked himself to completion. Haytham’s sticky hand joined its sweat-slicked counterpart in Connor’s hair, and the older trembled, as he felt his orgasm come upon him. 

It hit him like a punch to the gut, rendering him breathless, as pressure soared passed the threshold and exploded into almost unbearable ecstasy. Haytham’s taut hold on Connor’s hair tightened to the point that it actually brought tears to the younger’s eyes, as the older man emptied himself down the assassin’s throat; groaning breathlessly as he did so. Trying to catch his breath, as he pulled softened cock from Connor’s slack mouth, Haytham opened his eyes just in time to see the door open.

The wicker laundry basket at Diana’s hip dropped abruptly to the floor and broke, spilling freshly cleaned clothes onto the floorboards, as the woman brought her hands to her mouth to muffle her shocked gasp. Haytham almost felt bad for her, as the blonde looked wholly traumatized, at having caught them in the act. However, as he felt that she got her just-desserts for not knocking, Haytham cleared his throat and saved his words of consolation for later; when Connor was throwing a hissy-fit at him for not first locking the door. “Were you never taught you to knock?”

Connor snapped out of his current state of shock, at hearing Haytham’s taunting voice. Standing brusquely, the assassin strode to Diana and, not knowing what to say or do, pushed the blonde from the doorway before slamming the door shut. Expression a mixture of embarrassment and fury, Connor shouted every swearword he knew at Haytham.

If the assassin was lucky; Diana would pretend that she hadn’t happened upon what she had, and never speak of the matter again. If he wasn’t… Connor’s hands balled into fist at the thought, rage gripping him somewhere behind his ribs. He was going to kill Haytham.

“Oh, relax… I’m quite sure they suspected—” Haytham interrupted himself, as he ducked right in time to avoid a potted plant that was flung indignantly at his head.


End file.
